FREE ANGEL
by Random in Tandem
Summary: I wrote this and originally posted it on tumblr, but after polishing it up I feel proud enough to put it here for anyone who'll read it. The fic is inspired by an image I saw on tumblr, but I don't know its original source. If anyone knows, please tell me so I can give credit where it's due.


The barkeep grabbed Dean Winchester by his coat collar and practically dragged him out of the building, ignoring the taller man's protests. Dean swayed when the barkeep finally let go; he took a few forward steps which ultimately ended in falling on his ass. He was gonna be sore in the morning.

"Dean," the barkeep said, his voice tinged with pity, "Go home. Go to sleep. And for God's sake, get sober."

The last statement elicited a bitter bark of a laugh from Dean. "Right. For _God's_ sake." He used the outside wall of the bar to get himself back on his feet. "I don't think _God_ gives a damn about my drinking problem."

"Just go home."

Dean waited for a few minutes after the barkeep went back inside, until he was sure his legs had stopped feeling like jello, before he even attempted to walk back to the motel. He wasn't drunk enough to forget that he could flag down a cab, but he thought of the angry brother waiting for him to come back and decided to prolong that meeting as long as possible. Damn, Sammy was gonna be pissed at him.

A faint glimmer of light tore him from his thoughts. He looked around and realized that he wasn't exactly sure where his feet had carried him; it was an alleyway, empty but for the trash scattered on the ground and the large cardboard box butted up against the wall at the far end. At the time, Dean wasn't sure if it was the alcohol making the box appear larger than it actually was, but that box seemed comically big, the type you ship furniture in. A note, written on a white piece of paper, was taped to the box.

Unable to resist his drunken curiosity, Dean wandered toward it, but halted as soon as the words came into view.

**FREE ANGEL  
**Preferably to broken home  
VERY DISOBEDIENT!

_… What the hell?_

When he reached the box, it took him a while to register what he saw. Curled up inside of it was a sleeping man in a beige, filth-soaked trenchcoat. But that wasn't even the best part: no, the kicker was that the man was wearing _wings,_ white, Halloween-y angel wings that were now as soiled as the rest of him. Dean scoffed.

Unfortunately, the action caused the 'angel' to sit up so fast that Dean suspected he hadn't been sleeping at all. Wary blue eyes, full of _purity_, glared at him. A hand shot out and grasped the fabric of Dean's favorite jacket; Dean lost balance, falling to his knees. "Hey, hey, cool it! I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean assured the other man, a bit ashamed of just how drunk he sounded. The hand on his jacket loosened. Another hand, trenchcoat-guy's right hand, gripped Dean tightly on the shoulder, keeping him there. _Asking for help_. Dean softened his voice almost instinctively as he maintained eye contact: "S'okay, you're okay, I'm not gonna try anything. I'm Dean. What- What's your name?"

Those eyes just kept staring at him, unwavering, burning into him as if trying to look at his soul. Without thought, Dean lightly placed his hands on the man's arms in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Are you hurt? Drunk? You gotta give me something, man."

"Castiel."

That voice was impossibly rough and low, like he hadn't used it in days. Dean blinked in surprise when he first heard it. "Sorry, what?"

"My name... is Castiel."

"Castiel. Okay then. That's somethin'. What's up with the wings, Castiel?"

The man called Castiel frowned in obvious confusion, releasing his grip on Dean's shoulder to feel the costume wings on his back. "My brothers," he replied, after a pause. "They like to play pranks."

"Hell of a prank." Dean ripped the paper from the box and handed it to Castiel. "They put you up for adoption."

Castiel's eyes took on a new emotion when he read the note, though Dean couldn't begin to decipher what it was. It was just- _sad_. Lonely. It was the look in Sam's eyes when Dean sided with their dad during another one of their arguments, which was almost every time. It broke Dean's heart.

"My brothers and I don't get along very well."

"Yeah, I know how that goes." The words tumbled out before he could stop himself, but there they were. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him again. Dean stood abruptly, pulling Castiel up with him, and forced himself to smile reassuringly and pat Castiel on the back. "C'mon angel, let's get you cleaned up, huh? You look like you had a fight with a sewer and lost. I, uh, I'm staying at a motel, so don't expect anything too fancy."

Castiel didn't follow when Dean began to walk out of the alley. "And what if I don't want to go with you?" he asked, his voice small, doubting, his eyes cast downward. "Forgive me in saying that I find it unwise to trust a complete stranger. I should return home; my brothers will be waiting for me."

Dean turned back and looked at him incredulously, saw the note in Castiel's hand being choked to death.

"They leave you up for grabs - _unconscious_ - in a shady alleyway, and you want to go back to them? Did they hit you over the head extra hard or something?"

"They are my family."

"Not anymore, apparently!" Dean growled, jabbing an accusatory finger towards the crumpled paper in Castiel's fist. The man said nothing, just stood there brooding. "Hey, I get it," he continued. "I do. Family is important. I got a brother, Sam; and he's pretty much _all_ I got, even though half the time I feel like I don't even have _him_ either. These past few months - well, they've been hell for me. I'm just about ready to give up. On _everything_. Hell, I've even thought about what I'm gonna write in my note. But now I'm here talking to you, and I- I dunno, but... I'm not just gonna leave you here, not if I can help you."

Castiel processed the speech which had been thrown at him, marveling at the connection he felt with this 'Dean,' despite being unacquainted with him. He thought carefully of what to say next, because it felt important to say the right thing. "It- seems to me that you need more help than I do: you are clearly inebriated."

Dean scoffed blandly. "That obvious, huh?" he retorted. "Nah, this is business as usual for me. But, _man_, am I gonna feel it in the morning."

Castiel tilted his head to one side, observing Dean with fascination. "You don't think you deserve it." Oops. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"Why don't you get out of my ass?" Dean snapped. He instantly regretted it, even though Castiel hadn't been fazed in the least. "I-I'm sorry. Guess I'm not doing so hot in the trustworthy department, am I?"

"I trust you." And it was true. Something had changed in the span of mere minutes, something monumental. Castiel couldn't yet work out what that something was, only that he wanted it, he simply _wanted,_ as though he'd never been allowed to want anything in his entire existence.

"You really shouldn't."

A silence settled over them and they fell into an unofficial staring contest; it went on long enough to become uncomfortable for Dean, though he didn't dare look away. Castiel was the one to break it: "I'm hungry, Dean. I have not eaten in several hours, possibly days."

A smile slid back onto Dean's face, and this time it was a genuine one. Castiel decided he enjoyed seeing that smile. "Then I hope you like cheeseburgers, 'cause that's all I can afford right now." He beckoned for Castiel to follow him. The chilly night breeze had just begun to push its way along the city streets, and for the first time, Castiel felt himself drifting with it, Castiel the castaway. Castiel, free. Of course he would have to face his brothers eventually, but that was a concern for the future. In the present it was Castiel and his friend Dean enjoying a walk together. A new wad of paper joined the rest of the filth in a shady alley with a large, empty cardboard box butted up against the wall at the far end.

"Hey, Cas, are you gonna- er- keep wearing those wings? I mean, they're pretty and everything, don't get me wrong, but no fast food place in the country'll let us in with you lookin' like that. Ha, Sam is gonna _freak_ when he sees you."

Castiel – Cas – exalted in the nickname. "Thank you."

Dean reflected on all the pain he'd endured in these past few months, all the emotion and torment that he wanted so desperately to forget, and how it all had disappeared the moment he'd found Cas. It was, in fact, Cas who had found him, as chick-flick as that sounded. Cas was right: Dean didn't think he deserved to be helped or saved or whatever, and he wasn't even sure if he wanted it. But what he didn't yet know was that Cas would give him what he didn't deserve, would lift him out of his personal Hell and give him purpose. Castiel, the angel on his shoulder.

_No, Cas, thank **you**._


End file.
